Sleeping Beauty

This sort of push necessary and he'd ordinarily pull back, encourage whoever he was with to ease themselves down on him, to let them control the pace.

Ian didn't particularly care for this little cunt, nor his boycunt.

He pressed forward smoothly, thinking he should be grateful for the great amount of paraffin greasing his cock, and groaned at the incredible sensation, so unspeakably tight it was like a vice grip around him. It wasn't just the tight ring of the boy's arsehole, wasn't just the muscle, but the whole of his channel, the whole of it swallowing him tightly on all sides.

He could scarcely breathe as he bottomed out, sheathed himself entirely, felt his balls kiss against the boy's.

"You look like you're going to have a heart attack," said Lluw serenely, leaning on the desk and not so much as glancing at the sailor between them. "Are you? I've never seen a man have a heart attack before. The sweat's pouring off you."

"Just because I'm not beating him doesn't mean I can't still beat you," whispered Ian, trying to concentrate on his words and not on the inferno his cock was buried in, the tightest, hottest environment it had ever had the pleasure of enjoying -- although right now, it was so intense that pleasure was almost left by the wayside. His heart was beating fast, and he was aware he was flushed bright red under his uniform, could feel the blotchy red in his cheeks, his chest, could feel that he was sweating. "Mock your captain again, young man, and you'll find yourself bent over my knee as soon as I've finished buggering your sailor friend."

Hastings moaned underneath him, moaned, "Please, please, please -- "

Ian gave a savage thrust forward, rocking his hips into Hastings, and the choked sound he made was desperate, animalistic.

"Shut up, Hastings," Ian growled. "Not another word out of you."

Hastings whimpered again, but to the little fuck's credit, he held his tongue.

* * *

The enema had been nothing compared to the amount of cock he was full up with now.

Captain Chisholm was a big fucking man and his cock was big too, was so massive inside him that Jacob could barely fucking breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do a goddamn thing but like there over the desk and whimper because of how much was stuffed inside him, and it was hot and hard and he could feel the pulse of his fucking heartbeat through it, could occasionally feel his cock jerk as he stayed buried in place.

Even his balls were superlatively large, making Jacob's own balls feel fucking tiny in comparison, and he was breathing heavily, tears on his cheeks, his whole body soaked with sweat.

His big hands rested on Jacob's waist, thumbs pressing right against his hipbones, and Jacob moaned at the way they talked over him, even though most of the words blurred together, so much so that he couldn't really fully digest them, take them in.

"Have you ever been buggered before, bachgen?" Lluw asked him, and he didn't even know what the fuck a back-gin was, but he knew he felt soft and warm and malleable with the way the word made him feel, the soft way that Lluw said it. "Have you ever had a man up your arse?"

Jacob shook his head, and Lluw chuckled, and his smile was beautiful, his palms warm where they cupped the sides of his jaw, tipping his head up toward his face.

"How does he feel, Captain?" asked Lluw.

"Tight," grunted Captain Chisholm, and then slowly eased himself back.

Jacob moaned incoherently at the feel of it, the impossible slide and tug of Captain Chisholm's cock against his walls as he drew back and then slammed forward, sheathing himself inside him, and then he did it again. Jacob's brains were being liquefied, and possibly his guts, too, fuck his guts, probably every one of his organs with the amount of cock stuffed inside him, and his head was spinning.

"Back, back, u -- Ian, hook his shoulders. Under his shoulders, use your elbows, yes, like that, da iawn."

"Ridiculous," muttered Captain Chisholm, but he hoisted Jacob back anyway, lifted him clean off the desk with his arms framed under Jacob's underarms, and Jacob couldn't help the wails that eked out of him, the sound that started low in his throat and wrenched out of him. Like this, held up just by Captain Chisholm who, it turned out, wasn't actually a man at all and was obviously some sort of demigod or male Amazon, so fucking strong as he was, he was impaled on his cock, and when he looked down he started sobbing because he could see the imprint of Chisholm through his fucking belly.

"Oh, yes," hummed Lluw, and he reached out with one of his delicate hands and pressed on the outline of Chisholm's cock, showing a bulge from the flat line of Jacob's belly, and the pressure of his palm was unspeakable, felt good, felt awful, felt like he was going to fucking die, felt like he'd go to heaven just beforehand.

Chisholm was grunting low in his throat at the effort of lifting him, and with every thrust of his hips Jacob was dropped down on him, so much so that his cock was leaking and he couldn't concentrate on anything but that, anything but his fucking impalement, anything --

He didn't know how long it lasted, his mind dulling to a bright fuzz for what seemed like an eternity before Chisholm hummed and then threw him back over the desk and started pounding into him. He was making deep noises, sounded desperate, and Jacob just had to take it, heaved in gasps whenever he could.

When he finished it was a hot, wet flood inside him, pulsed in a way the enema hadn't, and Jacob felt dizzy when Chisholm finally drew back. There was come leaking out of him, dripping out of his fucked-open hole and over his balls, and he laid there for a few minutes, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath back, trying to reorder his thoughts.

"Did he come?" asked Lluw, and Jacob blearily looked to where his voice was coming from, then pushed himself up on his palms when he realised that Lluw was already naked, reclining back on the pillows with his legs spread, his fingers playing over his clit. He was so wet he glistened in the evening candlelight, shining so pink he looked ready to eat.

"He didn't," said Chisholm, and Jacob bit his lip, pushing himself up and standing straight, his legs a little bit unsteady. He glanced back at Chisholm for permission, and Chisholm arched an eyebrow at him, his gaze cold.

"Are you going to fuck me or not, Mr Hastings?" asked Lluw, and Jacob swallowed, twisting around the desk and going up toward him, approaching the bed.

It felt weird. His arse felt open and raw and open and not, not bad, actually, and his cock was so hard he couldn't stand it. He fell on top of the bed and he whimpered when Lluw gripped him tight by the hair and pulled him into a kiss, his lips plump and so soft he couldn't help but sigh.

"There," murmured Lluw against his mouth, his fingers playing over the side of Jacob's neck. "Good, bachgen, good... Going to fuck me, yes? Going to satisfy me?"

"Yeah," said Jacob breathlessly, nodding eagerly as he put his hands on Lluw's chest, his belly, felt the pure heat of him and then went to cup his thighs, his arse. He let out a noise without meaning to, a soft, desperate sound, and rushed to line himself up.

Fuck, but he was just as soft and wet and wonderfully yielding as he was before, and Jacob was overstimulated from the fucking that Chisholm had given him, and Lluw was so beautiful and so plush and he was smiling and he clenched so sweetly when Jacob bottomed out and --

Lluw blinked several times at the strangled noise Jacob let out, trying not to shudder in his place, and then leaned back.

"Oh, dear," he said softly, voice so blisteringly cool that Jacob wished he could crumble into dust. "Already?"

"I'm so sorry," moaned Jacob, "I'm so, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry -- "

* * *

Ian had no objection to watching Lluw fuck other men, had often enjoyed it -- one or two of his officers, Kant and Guthrie particularly, had sampled him before, and Lluw sometimes invited other men over at parties, or in bars. He enjoyed being admired, enjoyed fucking, and Ian had known other men that enjoyed having sex with others to embarrass or undermine their partners, but the most amusing thing about Lluw was that it really wasn't that.

Many times, he'd observed Lluw make a man come or enjoy his attentions, and then sweetly and quite devastatingly say that he had a better man at home, or that whoever it was had served as the perfect appetitizer for his main course, so to speak, before he returned to Ian.

But apart from that sweet but venomous jabbing he did with strangers, he was sweet and warm and yielding, he was lovely. He was only ever submissive, only ever welcomed other men's command, their attention.

With this boy, with Jacob Hastings?

This young man could tell Lluw to step out of a room on fire, and Lluw would likely raise an eyebrow and think twice before he did it.

"He already came?" asked Ian dryly. "That why you didn't feel it earlier, because he got his fucking cockhead into you and popped his cork before he so much as thrust?" Hastings shuddered, bright red and looking humiliated, and Ian had to bite back the savage smile that came to his mouth, satisfied.

"I'm so sorry," Jacob blurted out again, all apologies when he wasn't raping sleeping men or blowing his load at a fucking gust of wind. "Let me, um, can I -- With my mouth? Can I use my mouth to...?"

"Mr Hastings," said Lluw, all sweet, poisonous condescension, "have you ever put your mouth on a man's cunt before, hm? Would you even have the slightest idea what you were doing, or would you be fumbling with your tongue the same way you do with your cock?"

Ian stifled a chuckle at the way Hastings stumbled, stammering out vague noises that didn't quite approximate to words, and Lluw pushed him back with two fingers on his chest, clucking his tongue.

"Captain?" asked Lluw, pouting out his lips and looking at Ian with his eyes big and wide. "Won't you show him how it's done? I want to come so badly, I enjoyed so much watching you. Isn't it unfair that you've come, and he's come so easily fucking me twice, and I haven't gotten to come at all?"

"It's very unfair," agreed Ian, moving slowly forward.

"Won't you show him how it's done?" asked Lluw again. "So he's good for something?"

Hastings let out a low, embarrassing sound, and Ian still held no fondness for him, would never, but it was difficult not to be engaged with Lluw's excitement, Lluw's eagerness to have Ian's tongue on him, to show off how much Ian could please him where Hastings could never compare.

He fell between Lluw's legs with his mouth open, put himself to work, and he'd be a liar if he said he didn't take in Hastings' wanting noises and desperate, focused attention as much as he did Lluw's moans for more.

FIN.